"That was when I knew we couldn't," replied Eustace, scarcely thinking what he was saying.

"What a funny thing to say," said Nesta. "But you _do_ still want to go, don't you?"

"I don't know," said Eustace.

"Well, you are a queer boy," said Nesta in rather a disgusted tone.

"I call that silly."

"I think I know just what Eustace means," said Miss Chase quietly.

"He wants to get there without going--to be there without leaving home. It is how I felt about coming here."

"I don't understand a bit," said Nesta, with a shake of her head.

"I do," said Bob. "One knows what one is leaving, but one doesn't know what one is going to. It is a toss-up whether there is to be any happiness in the venture. But I prophesy the witch will see to it you don't want to come back in a hurry. You'll enjoy yourself no end."

"Why, Bob," exclaimed Nesta in astonishment, "how you have changed!

That is all the opposite to what you have always said before."

"Is it?" said Bob lamely. "Well, I suppose I must be bewitched too.

What do you expect when you will import such things into the country?"

CHAPTER XIV.

A MOONLIGHT DISTURBANCE.

"Aunt Dorothy's cows" became as great a family joke as "Aunt Dorothy's lunatics;" indeed, scarcely a day pa.s.sed that the household was not amused by some quaint mistake of hers. Every one chaffed her, especially Bob; and as the two patients rapidly recovered, the house-party was a merry one. In spite of the thought of parting with his family so soon, Mr. Orban was in much better spirits; the cane had been safely cut, the good crop had been spoiled neither by fire nor the rainy season coming too soon, and the crushing was well in progress.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Nesta one morning at breakfast, "I am so sorry you are getting well, Bob."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," said Bob with deliberate politeness.

"One is always so glad of one's friends' good wishes."

Every one laughed except Nesta.

"Well, you know what I mean," she said. "Of course the minute you are well you will go, and the house will be duller than ever without you."

"Very prettily put for the rest of us, dear," said Miss Chase. "I am sure we feel much complimented."

"I don't know what you mean," said Nesta in bewilderment. "I didn't mean to compliment any one."

"You achieved it, however," said Bob. "You called them a pack of dull dogs not fit to live with. Of course they feel charmed with your opinion."

"Oh, I didn't," said Nesta.

"You inferred it," said Miss Chase. "However, we forgive you.

Fortunately we shan't be able to die of dullness entirely, because there will be so much to be done preparing for the voyage."

"I vote Bob stays with us till we go," said Eustace.--"He would be jolly useful, wouldn't he, mother?"

"Really, Eustace," remonstrated Mrs. Orban with a laugh, "I am ashamed of you. Is that the way you treat your friends?"

Eustace reddened and looked uncomfortable as the laugh went round.

Glancing deprecatingly at Bob, he found that he was not even smiling. It did seem a cheeky way of putting it.

"I beg your pardon," he began, when Bob interrupted quickly.

"No, don't. I was only thinking what a jolly thing you had said.

What are friends for if they are not to be made use of?"

"That is rather a dangerous theory to propound," said Mr. Orban.

"Supposing your friends take advantage of it--what then?"

"A real friend never would take advantage of it," said Bob with certainty; "that is just how you can test him. The chap who will take nothing from you, but only give, is a patronizing bounder; the fellow who will give nothing to you, but only take, is a mean beggar; the man who will give and take equally is your chum. Hold on to him when you've got him."

"An excellent definition, Bob," said Mr. Orban, with a genial smile. "We shall certainly never let you go."

There was a second's pause, then Bob said quietly,--

"Thank you, sir. I guess I shall hold on to all of you too."

It took Nesta to the end of breakfast to unravel the meaning of the sudden gravity that had fallen over the party, and then she was not sure of herself.

"Why, you silly," said Eustace, to whom she appealed in private, "don't you see?--Father as good as said it--Bob is the right kind of chap to have for a chum. And so he is. I guess I know that better than any one."

"I don't see why you should," exclaimed Nesta jealously. "We all know Bob; he isn't anybody's in particular. He said himself he meant to hold on to _all_ of us, not just one person only."

Her tone was "snubby" in the extreme, but Eustace was utterly silent for a moment.

Nesta did not know it; he would never know it himself; but there was a big difference in Eustace nowadays. He had not gone through great experiences untouched; some things in life leave an indelible impression.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I'm glad he said that."

Nesta was so astonished at getting no response to her a.s.sertion that she exclaimed,--

"Said what?"

"Why, that he will hold on to us," Eustace said.

"Well," Nesta remarked, again with a touch of superiority, "of course we all knew that without his telling us."

Eustace eyed her with a quietness that somehow irritated the girl.

She could not understand him at all, and nothing annoyed Nesta so much as to discover she was not understanding something that was perfectly clear to somebody else.

"Didn't you know it?" she asked sharply.